Almost
by These Guilty Pleasures
Summary: A collection of what-if type stories. Nothing plot-changing, just little things. Chapter 4: What if Harry had been a little late meeting Voldemort in the forest? What if everyone saw his saccrifice?
1. The vision

**Summary: So basically this is just a bunch of little tiny one-shot what ifs. Nothing plot changing in any major or even minor way. It'll be things like what if Harry's vision of Olivander came a few minutes earlier and he wasn't alone? Or what if Bellatrix's knife had been a few inches to the left and grazed Harry on the way to Dobby. Little things. Sometimes it might also be flipped perspectives. Like Ron's POV on Harry's nightmares or Hermione's POV on finding Harry up in Sirius's room I'm very cannon and love all the good guys and don't like the bad guys so much, but I especially tend to lean towards Harry as my favorite character, so most of this will be centered around him. **

**A/N: (Yes, this A/N is different from the summary) I was going to put in the paragraph from the book where this starts out, but it's super late and I'm too tired so I'll just tell you this one, but the others I'll put in part of the book where it starts out. This is in chapter five of Deathly Hallows, right after they toast Mad-Eye and Harry says he should leave and just before he gets his vision thingy. It's basically another version of the vision if he'd gotten it in front of everybody else. **

Harry rubbed at his forehead, pain spiking suddenly through his scar. He wanted to turn and flee into the dark back garden or even into an empty room, desiring privacy for what he could feel coming, though he hoped he was wrong. This couldn't start happening again. His scar hadn't hurt like this since the night Sirius had died.

The conversation turned away from him as he retreated into stubborn silence. He could feel the others' glances. No one had been convinced of anything, not even him. They still thought he'd defeated Voldemort _again_, and he was still thinking of leaving. He was grateful not to be the center of attention anymore and let his mind slip away from the conversation.

If he thought he could have moved without falling over, Harry would have turned and run from the room. He knew what was coming and knew he wouldn't be able to stop it anymore than he had been able to a year ago.

He closed his eyes, hoping he wouldn't scream like the last few times, hoping no one would notice. A vision of something happening far away flooded his mind, foreign thoughts sharp and acute as if they were his own.

Ron and Hermione, more trained in noticing this sort of thing having spent six years as Harry's best friends, were paying about as much attention to the conversation as Harry was. It was surprisingly Ron who picked up on it first. He noticed Harry's closed eyes, his tight grip on the back of the sofa. Other people might think it was just stress from the whole sodding situation, but the way Harry had been rubbing at his scar had not passed him by and Ron shot a pointed glance at Hermione, nodding in Harry's direction.

Ron couldn't be sure what was happening – after all this connection was supposed to be closed – but he had a feeling, maybe like the one dogs get before someone has a seizure.

Ron and Hermione were the only ones who noted the white-knuckle grip Harry had on the sofa and the wine glass, the way his eyes scrunched up tighter and tighter, like he was resisting pain. A drop of blood trickled down Harry's chin because he was biting his lip so hard to resist screaming and Ron and Hermione stiffened, the rest of the room fading away as they watched Harry, now sure of what was about to happen. Harry swayed and both of them half rose from their chairs. Their movement drew everybody's attention, but they hardly noticed the stares, gazes locked on their friend. Everybody turned to look at Harry just as the wine glass slipped from his grip and shattered on the floor. The next instant he went down, disappearing behind the sofa, and his screams filled the room.

Instant uproar. Ginny and Tonks, who were closest, vaulted over the back of the couch, Mrs. Weasley was at Harry's other side in a second, and everyone else made movements towards the place where Harry was thrashing around, screaming more terribly than any of them had thought he was capable of. But Ron was the quickest to react. He lunged forward, pushing the others out of his way and shouting above the noise, "Get back! I know what to do!"

No one paid him any attention until he had jumped over the back of the sofa and shoved Ginny roughly aside. Pinning down one of Harry's flailing arms with a knee, Ron slapped him across the face, ignoring the others outraged cries.

"It's the only thing that'll work before he bites his tongue off or something!" he bellowed, wrenching his arm free of his mother's grip to slap his friend again. "Trust me, I've done this before!"

After that most of the rest stopped protesting. Arthur gently pulled his wife back to give Ron room while they all watched Ron struggle with Harry.

"Harry! HARRY! Come on! Wake up!" Ron shouted, slapping Harry across the face repeatedly.

After about a minute, it seemed to work. Harry's wild thrashing subsided into jerky twitches, his screams died in his throat and Ron stopped hitting him and started shaking him. "Come on, Harry! It's us! Wake up!"

Harry fell limp and the entire room fell silent. His eyes fluttered open and stared up at Ron blearily.

Harry felt as if he'd been trampled. He was lying on the wooden floor, covered in cold sweat and shaking uncontrollably. Ron was kneeling over him looking very unnerved, but surprisingly much calmer than the others Harry could see from this position. Ron was the only one who had really seen him during one of these visions before.

"Back with us?" Ron asked shakily, helping Harry sit up. It was a stupid thing to say, but it was better than asking if Harry was okay, because Ron knew he wasn't.

Harry had fallen on the glass shards from the dropped goblet and they'd left slices on his back and shoulder. His moth was bloody from biting through his lip and hot, sticky blood covered his chin. Thinking of past experiences, Ron flicked his wand in the direction of the kitchen and a bowl soared into his hand.

"Just in case," he murmured, shoving it into Harry's lap. Sure enough, a minute latter nausea rolled over him and Harry lurched forward to retch into the bowl.

Ron and Hermione knelt on either side of him, gripping his shoulder or rubbing his back, attempting in some small way to be soothing. When he straightened up, shaking harder than before and whipping his mouth, Hermione vanished the contents of the bowl with a wave of her wand and she and Ron heaved Harry into a near-by chair.

No one had moved or made a sound since Harry had come round. They watched the trio with varying degrees of understanding, fear, and concern. Molly was sobbing silently into her husband's chest and Ginny and Fleur both looked sickened.

The trio, as they had unconsciously become accustomed to doing, huddled together in their own little island, barely noticing the room full of on-lookers. Hermione knelt in front of Harry, peering anxiously into his face while Ron bent over the arm of the chair to but his head close to the other two.

They spoke so low that the others only heard snatches even in the quiet room. Hermione muttered something to Harry, who nodded, sagging tiredly into the chair. The others heard Hermione's voice shoot up an octave when she replied.

"But it was supposed to have stopped!" she half-whimpered, so only Ron and Harry could make out her words. "This wasn't supposed to happen anymore!"

"The connection must have re-opened somehow," Harry murmured, barely moving his lips.

"You've got to stop it! Harry, you can't let this happen! You can't let him inside your head, too," Hermione whispered urgently.

Harry cracked his eyes open enough to scowl at her. "You know I can't," he muttered in an even lower voice.

"You never really tried," she said whispered fiercely. "He can use this, Harry! Remember what happened last time?"

"Yeah, I do, thanks," Harry muttered bitterly. Glaring, he lurched to his feet and started unsteadily for the stairs, shoving down the memories and guilt Hermione had accidentally dragged to the surface. R

Ron looked reproachfully at Hermione for a moment in an utterly alien moment of reprimanding her for lack of tact before catching up with Harry in two quick strides to help him up the stairs. After a moment's hesitation, Hermione stood up and followed them, taking her place on Harry's other side.

"What the hell was that about!" Fred exclaimed once the trio had disappeared up the stairs.

"Who knows!" Ginny burst out bitterly. The night's events coupled with what had just happened and watching Harry, Ron, and Hermione go off together _again_, and Harry trusting them but not her _again_, caused traitorous tears to sting her eyes and she blinked down at her hands.

Most of the others were thinking about how Ron had suddenly taken charge and known what to do. For many of them this was a first.

"They know each other well," Arthur said quietly. "They've got no one better to be going off with than each other."

Molly lifted her tear-stained face from Arthur's shoulder. "They shouldn't be going off anywhere! They're just children!" she declared in wavering voice.

"Molly, look at what just happened. Look at what Ronnie did. While the rest of us panicked, he stayed calm and took care of things," Arthur said calmly. None of them really had had any idea what those visions were like, how horrible they were to witness and how much worse it must be for Harry. But his youngest son had gotten beyond that and actually done something. "This was obviously not the first time Ron's had to do something like that. They may be young, but they've dealt with a lot beyond their age. We couldn't stop them from leaving if we tried, but it's at least a small comfort to know that they'll have each others' backs better than anyone else could."

**A/N: So what do you think? Maybe it's a little pointless, but these what ifs are usually that way. I hope anyone amazing enough to read this liked it and I would really REALLY love some feedback. Even if you hated it. So please pleas take a moment to leave a review! It only takes a moment! **


	2. The Knife

**A/N: I'm back! Really quick right? Well, don't get used to it. I've got exams coming up and anytime I'm not spending studying is already booked by babysitting. One of the lovely charms of being the oldest still living at home. But you don't really care about my personal life, so on to the story!**

**Thanks a bunch to Morning Lilies and Fairyprincesst for reviewing! You guys are amazing!**

**Summary: What if Bellatrix's knife swerved just a few inches to the left and caught Harry on the way to its mark? Set in Deathly Hallows at the end of Malfy Manner and the beginning of The Wandmaker. Sort of overlaps parts of the book, but again, no major plot changing. **

**Everything belongs to JK Rowling, who, by the way, is not me. The italics stuff is directly from the book and there are a few descriptions in the beginning that are also taken from the book. I don't claim to own those either. **

_Harry's scar was blinding him with pain. Dimly he knew that they had moments, seconds before Voldemort was with them._

"_Ron, catch – and GO!" he yelled, throwing one of the wands at him; then he bent down to tug Griphook out from under the chandelier. Hoisting the groaning goblin, who still clung to the sword, over one shoulder, Harry seized Dobby's hand and spun on the spot to Disapparate._

_As he turned into darkness, he caught one last view of the drawing room, of the pale, frozen figures of Narcissa and Draco, of the streak of red that was Ron's hair, and a blur of flying silver ss Bellatrix's knife flew across the room at the place where he was vanishing – _Bill and Fleur's…Shell Cottage… Bill and Fleur's

The blackness pressed in on all sides. He repeated the destination again and again in his head and hoped it would be enough to get him there.The goblin's weight bore down upon him and he could feel the sword bumping against his back, but the pain in his head and a searing in his side pushed out all thought but where he needed to go.

He felt Dobby's hand twist in his and wondered if the elf was trying to take charge, to pull them in the right direction and tried to indicate, by squeezing the fingers, that that was fine by him…

And then they hit solid earth and smelled salty air. Harry relinquished Dobby and fell to his hands and knees, letting the goblin tumble off his back to the ground. He heard Griphook moan, but it was all he could do to stay conscious. Black spots swam before his eyes as his hands scrabbled at his side. He felt something hot and sticky on his stomach and dimly registered that it was not a good sign, but then yellows specks of light in the distance caught his eye. He could see the shadows of people moving in the light and hoped more than ever that they had reached safety.

"Dobby, is this Shell Cottage? Have we come to the right place?" he gasped, finding it surprisingly difficult to draw in breath. "Dobby?"

He looked around. The little elf stood feet from him and one look at him drove everything – his worry over their location, fear of fresh attack, even the sickening pain in his own side – out of his mind.

"DOBBY!"

The elf swayed slightly, stars reflected in his wide, shining eyes. Together, he and Harry looked down at the silver hilt of the knife protruding from the elf's heaving chest.

"Dobby - no – HELP!" Harry tried to bellow, but his voice was straggled in his own throat. Something hot and sticky was coating his mouth, dripping down his chin. He couldn't draw in breath to shout for help. It did not matter if they had come to the right place, if those people up at the cottage were wizard or Muggle, friend or foe, because they would not hear him anyway.

A dark stain was spreading across Dobby's front and he stretched out his thin arms to Harry with a look of supplication. Harry caught him and lay him sideways on the cool grass, still spluttering out strangled cries for help that he knew would not come.

"Dobby, no, don't die, don't die –"

Harry didn't even know if the elf could understand him now as he struggled to suck in air in order to force out the words, but he kept up his chant all the same.

The elf's eyes found him and his lips trembled with the effort to form words.

"Harry...Potter…"

And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great glassy orbs, sparkling with light from the stars they could not see.

It was like sinking into an old nightmare. For a moment Harry was once again kneeling beside Dumbledore's body at the foot of the tallest tower of Hogwarts, but in reality he was staring at a tiny body curled upon the grass, pierced by Bellatrix's silver knife. He was still mouthing the elf's name, though he could no longer give sound to the words. He felt nothing at all but the icy waves of shock and horror that crashed over him in this dark little huddle, isolated from any aid.

He turned his head, vision swimming, once more to the little cottage, but he could no longer see people moving there and they would not find him… were already too late anyways. He welcomed the unconsciousness that dragged him under and he sagged onto the grass with a nearly silent thud.

…

"Ron?"

Dean's voice cut across Ron's numb thoughts and he jumped, tearing his eyes away from the bed where Hermione was being treated by Fleur, still unconscious.

"Yeah?" he mumbled, looking at Dean who had appeared suddenly beside him in the doorway.

"You said Harry Disapparated when you did, right?" Dean asked, shifting from one foot to the other.

"He did," Ron confirmed, a trickle of new worry penetrating his carefully-built numbness.

"He hasn't turned up yet," Dean said very quietly. "You're sure he knew where to go? Sure he could get here?"

"He should be able to, yeah," Ron said, going over it again. There was no reason Harry shouldn't be. He was with Dobby, at the very least. The elf could get in for sure.

"And there's no way… no way they could have grabbed him last minute?" Dean persisted.

"No way," Ron said, affirming the point for the second time. This was the first garbled explanation he'd given to them ten minutes ago when he'd first turned up. Harry would be right behind him. They'd just barely escaped Malfoy Manner. He'd seen Harry Apparating away.

But Harry hadn't turned up yet.

"Dean and I are gonna go search around a bit," Bill said, coming up the stairs. "See if he got lost on the way to the house or something."

"I should come with you," Ron said automatically, but he cast a look at Hermione's pale figure and was reluctant to leave her side. What if she wasn't alright? What if she'd started to crack like Neville's parents?

"No, Ron, you stay here," Bill said firmly, catching the look. "We won't go far and they might need you here."

"Right," Ron murmured, ashamed to be a little bit relieved. The night's events had drained him and he didn't think he had it in him to launch himself into another race with fear just yet. If Bill and Dean weren't back with Harry in ten minutes, then he'd be more than willing.

…

"I'll go round back," Bill said as he and Dean stepped out into the black night. "Go up to the road and circle back. Meet me at the side of the house in five minutes," he added, indicating the spot where they should meet.

Dean nodded and Bill disappeared around the corner. Dean gripped his wand tightly and pushed forward into the pressing darkness. His own capture and what time he'd spent at Malfoy manner hearing Hermione screaming threatened to rise up again, but he shoved it away because someone was still missing and the night wasn't over yet.

He knew Hermione from school only and liked her well enough. If hearing her being tortured like that had made him feel sick, than he couldn't imagine what it had done to Ron and Harry. He hoped, not only for her sake, but for Ron's and Harry's too, that she was okay. He had watched the three of them grow inseparable over the years and though he hadn't thought to hard about it at the time, the idea of the three of them _not _being joined at the hip was now as strange a thought as Seamus deciding to take up soccer as a professional sport (though Dean thought only he had been privy to Seamus's soccer rants).

Lost in his own thoughts, Dean did not register the cluster of prone figures the first time his wand light swept over them. The second time, it jolted his stomach and began to run.

He saw Griphook first, sprawled on the grass and beyond him the tiny body of the little elf who'd brought him here. An inexplicable horror gripped him at the motionless little body, but he didn't stop to see why because he recognized the largest of the prone figures. Harry lay face down on the grass, unmoving, and a silver knife lay, dark with blood lay a few feet away.

"Harry!" Dean half shouted, leaping over Griphook to reach the slight, black-haired, too-still figure. He turned Harry over and fell backwards with a gasp. In the feeble light of his wand he could see the dark stain stretching over Harry's stomach and the pool of red on the grass where he'd been laying.

"BILL!" Dean shouted with all the volume he could muster, heaving Harry up by the shoulders and starting to drag him towards the house. Harry's head lolled limply onto his chest.

Bill was sprinting up to him in ten seconds, grabbing Harry's legs, and swearing at all the blood. Together, they carried towards the house as quickly as they could without jostling him too much. Bill kicked open the door and shouted for Fleur as they lowered Harry down onto the couch.

"Dammit, this is a lot of blood," Bill muttered, ripping up Harry's soaked shirt where the crimson was the darkest. He waved his wand over the wound, but nothing happened. "I'm no good at healing spells… Fleur! We need you down here, NOW!"

There was some muffled muttering in French and then Fleur appeared at the top of the stairs. The second she caught sight of the scene in her living room, her hands flew up to her mouth and her blue eyes got huge. She was down the stairs and kneeling beside Harry in a second, muttering instruction for Bill and Dean to get things or do things.

…

Ron heard the flurry of activity downstairs and knew if Fleur wasn't coming back up to tend to Hermione, whatever it was, was not good. He sat on the bed next to Hermione's while Luna continued to do whatever Fleur had told her do for Hermione.

"You should go," Luna told him serenely when he looked hesitantly at the door, afraid of what he might see if he ventured down the stairs. "You aren't doing any goo here," she added in her brutally honest fashion.

Ron swallowed, nodded, and pulled himself off the bed and towards the stairs. What he saw made him stop halfway down the steps. He thought Hermione's motionless, pale figure would be the worst thing he'd have to see tonight, but he'd been wrong. He could see Harry sprawled on the couch, dark red blood staining everything around him, covering his face and front. Fleur knelt next to him, waving her wand repeatedly over his torso and murmuring something. Bill was siphoning off the blood as quickly as it came and Ron could hear what he assumed was Dean banging around in the kitchen cupboards.

"What happened?" Ron croaked, jumping down the last few steps and stopping short at the back of the couch. "Did he… did he get Splinched?"

"Does that look like splinching to you?" Bill asked in the familiar harshness Ron and his siblings used when someone was being particularly stupid.

Ron opened his mouth to say yeah, actually it did look a lot like what had happened to him, but at that moment Dean appeared carrying an armful of potion bottles and bandages.

"There was a knife next to him," he supplied and Ron felt his stomach jolt once again as he thought of the silver knife Bellatrix had held to Hermione's throat.

Ron stared down at his friend's pale face and wondered how the bloody hell he'd managed to be the one to get out of there unscathed.

After a while – Ron wasn't sure exactly how long – Fleur sat back on her heals and whipped her face on her apron. "Eet iz starting to close," she said warily. Sure enough when Ron looked down at where the blood had been thickest, he could see a half-sealed gash in Harry's side.

They all jumped when Harry let out a faint, strangled sort of moan. Ron found himself thanking Merlin because at least they knew he was alive now.

" 'ee 'az lost a lot of blood," Fleur said, unscrewing one of the potions bottles and pouring some of the purple liquid into a goblet.

"Yeah, and you didn't even see where we found him," Dean muttered.

Fleur forced three different potions down Harry's throat and took his pulse once more before she stood up to check on Hermione, giving Bill the instructions to bandage the wound.

"But it was just a knife," Ron said hoarsely, watching Bill wrapping the bandages around Harry's stomach with his wand. "Shouldn't you be able to fix it up in a second?"

"Not if there was s curse on the blade or it was made with a kind of venom in the medal," Bill said grimly. "I tried the ordinary way first and it didn't do anything. But Fleur reckons he's lucky. He just got grazed, nothing to bad internally she says."

Ron glanced at the amount of scarlet splotches and thought Harry could have been luckier.

"Bill?" Dean said uncertainly. "What are we gonna do about Griphook and the elf? They looked pretty bad."

"Let's go check them out," Bill said as he fixed the end of the bandage in place and stood up. "Stay here with him," he added to Ron. "Call Fleur if he… if you need anything."

The two of them disappeared out the front door again and Ron moved to sit on the end of the couch, keeping a close eye on Harry to make sure he was still alive.

…

Harry was dimly aware of the voices, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He could feel a searing ache in his side and he was shivering badly, but he struggled to drag himself out of the black depths of unconsciousness. In some distant chamber of his mind, Voldemort's vision was playing, but it seemed he didn't even have the strength to watch that.

Very slowly a ceiling glowing in a pool of lamplight came into focus above him. He blinked at it, confused as images of the night swirled in his head.

"Nice to see you again," a familiar voice said from close by and Harry lifted his head enough to catch sight of Ron's red hair and freckles at the end of the couch he was laying on.

Harry groaned and closed his eyes against the wave of nausea this little effort had occasioned. Ron moved to sit on the coffee table and frowned down at Harry with concern.

"What happened? Dean said something about a knife, but I didn't see –" he broke off as Harry's eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up, fighting the pain and sickness down.

"Dobby," he gasped. "I've got to – " to what? The elf was beyond any kind of help or comfort now, Harry knew it. But he still wanted to be at his side, to do something for the creature who had paid so much to help him.

"You've got to stay put," Ron told him sternly, putting a hand on his shoulder and forcing him back down onto the couch. "Bill and Dean are taking care of it as we speak, don't worry."

Harry stared at him, unable to find the words to explain why this was not comforting. Then something else came back to him with enough force to leave him breathless. "Hermione –" he started, but Ron cut him off.

"She's upstairs," he said. "She's alright… well she looks better than you do anyway."

Harry sagged into the couch cushions and closed his eyes in relief. Then the front door banged open once more and Dean appeared, carrying Griphook's limp form. Bill was right behind him.

"Bring him up to the other bedroom with Olivander," he muttered to Dean and Dean staggered off up the stairs.

Bill turned to Ron and Harry who were watching him silently, and Harry could see he was trying to find a way of breaking the news to them.

"What've you done with the body?" Harry asked quietly.

"Nothing, yet. Dean reckons you were friends with him, figured we'd leave it up to you," Bill said, dragging a hand through his long hair and looking exhausted.

Ron looked between Harry and Bill as if struggling to comprehend what they were talking about.

"I want to bury him," Harry said suddenly, pulling himself upright once more and staggering to his feet.

Ron caught him and pushed him once more back down to the couch. "You're not going anywhere just yet," he said firmly.

"You don't understand," Harry said angrily, trying again to get to his feet. "He died to help me. The least I can do is –"

"Not kill yourself right away," Ron interjected, putting a restraining hand on Harry's shoulder and leaving it there this time to prevent anymore attempts to stand up.

"Ron, you don't understand," Harry said even more angrily, trying to throw off his restraints. He knew Ron was right, knew he could barely stand up, but the idea of sitting here doing nothing while Dobby lay out on the grass alone and cold was unbearable.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, coming back down the stairs with Fleur right behind him.

"Harry wants to bury him," Bill said, "Dobby, the elf that brought them here," he added for Fleur's sake. "He caught the knife in the chest it looks like."

"Harry, this is ridiculous!" Ron told him, matching Harry's anger as he struggled to keep him from getting up without hurting him any further. "You just bled half to death and you can't even stand up without nearly falling over. You can't bury him right now!"

"I half to do this," Harry said fiercely, finally managing to shake Ron off and stagger towards the door.

" 'Arry, you are injured!" Fleur said exasperatedly as Bill blocked the door. "You cannot really be thinking of –"

"I have to do this," Harry repeated even more forcefully than before, turning around to glare at Ron. Ron glared right back for a minute before he looked away, scowling, and nodded. Ron knew Harry well enough to know there was no talking him out of this.

Bill stepped aside, ignoring Fleur's sputters of indignation and looking curiously at his little brother.

"We'll help you," Dean offered, fallowing Harry out the door.

Ron was on the point of doing the same when Fleur grabbed his arm and said "She eez awake."

Ron hesitated a second before calling , "I'll be out in a second," and hurrying up the stairs.

Hermione was sitting up in bed, still looking pale and shaky, but at least awake and alert. Ron hadn't realized how scared he'd been until he saw her and nearly collapsed with relief.

"Hey," he said, moving over to sit on the bed opposite her.

"Hey," she murmured back.

"How's Harry?" Luna, who was sitting on the edge of Hermione's bed, asked.

"What happened to him?" Hermione croaked, looking between the two.

Ron hesitated. Did she really need that right now? But he could already tell Hermione wouldn't let it drop.

"He got sliced by Bellatrix's knife as we were leaving," he explained heavily. "He's alright," he hastened to add, seeing Hermione's hands fly up to her mouth. "Well, he was alright enough to through me off so he could go dig a grave. Dobby," he elaborated dully. "Bellatrix threw her knife at them and it grazed Harry and caught Dobby in the chest. Harry wanted to bury him. Wouldn't take no for an answer even though he can hardly stand up and half his blood is all over the living room. Sorry," Ron muttered at the looks on Hermione and Luna's faces. "too graphic? …well, should go and help him. Or at least make sure he doesn't collapse or something. You know how he gets… Are you okay?" he added as he stood up, thinking he probably should have asked this sooner.

"I… I'll be alright," Hermione told him in a weak voice that didn't sound very convincing. "Go help Harry," she added more forcefully. "I'll be fine, Ron."

He hesitated one second longer, the impulse to bend down and kiss her right then and there almost overwhelming. He didn't even care much that Luna was watching. Then Hermione gave him that look that said quite plainly, 'do as I say now' and he turned, half-smiling to help his friend. 

**A/N: What'd you think? Good? Bad? Wish I'd never started writing this in the first place? PLEASE TELL ME! **


	3. The Name

**A/N: Hello everybody! I'm back! Sorry for such a long wait. I love writing this, I really do, it's just that between school and my family, I just don't have a lot of time! I hope you'll bare with me :D I would have had this up sooner, except that about halfway through it my little brothers and sister started taking it in turns to get the flu and then my brother Ash ended up in the hospital with Pnomonia and it's just been a crazy December. But I'm on vacation finally and have some time! **

**Right so this chapter is what if Hermione said Ron's name just a little bit sooner. It takes place during chapter seventeen of Deathly Hallows (I seem to be on a kick with that book. Also with Harry being hurt or in pain. Don't know why exactly, just seems to happen in all my chapters. I'm not a masochist!) Bathilda's Secret. A lot of it is what Hermione was up to while Harry was watching his parents' murders (though of course slightly changes since it is a what if story). We don't really know what Harry was like during that vision, but from what Hermione said it was worse than any other. I based what Harry's like while he's unconscious off of Hermione's explanation of him 'shouting and moaning and… things'. Also, I think there's a lot of swearing in this, but I'm not that creative with swear words (Living with four-year-olds and a seven-year-old who repeat everything you say stops you form swearing too much) so it's not too bad. Anyways, I'll let you get on with it. **

_Glass cut his cheek as, pulling Hermione with him, he jumped from bed to broken dressing table and then straight out of the smashed window into nothingness, her scream reverberating through the night as they twisted in midair… _

They slammed into frozen ground so hard that Hermione's wand nearly flew out of her hand and she felt Harry's grip on her arm break. She scrambled up, disoriented by the darkness, panic still flooding her body, and whipped around, terrified she'd see the shadow she'd caught a glimpse of standing at the window as they left. But all she could see was darkness. _We've escaped, we've escaped, we have to have escaped, _she thought frantically, lighting her wand to relieve the darkness that seemed to be crushing her.

She could hear Harry thrashing and moaning not too far away, the sound half terrifying and half relieving because at least she knew he was alive, but how badly he'd been hurt, she was afraid to find out.

"Lumos," Hermione whispered because she couldn't gather the concentration to do the spell silently. Light flared and she could see snowy trunks of trees and a hill sloping down to her left. Her eyes searched the darkness around them; no skeletal shadow or cloaked figures looming out of the darkness at her, no glint of an eye watching them. "Homenum Revelio" she said tensely, backing up a step so that her ankle bumped against Harry's leg, reassuring herself he was still there and not being dragged away by some unknown tag-a-long.

The spell whooshed away into the darkness and nothing happened. Hermione sagged to the ground with relief, taking a shuddering breath of frigid air. Harry screamed behind her; his knee jerked and hit her in the back. A new fear spread through her as she scrambled around and her wand-light washed over him. Blood was staining the snow scarlet, but she couldn't tell where it was coming from as Harry thrashed around wildly.

"It's okay, Harry, we're safe! We're safe!" she tried to reassure him, but her voice was quaking too much to be comforting. It didn't seem to matter anyway, though. Harry was screaming too loud to hear anything. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was jerking and flailing around in the snow.

Hermione reached into her coat for the beaded bag, but Harry screamed again, this time smashing his head against a rock half-buried in snow. Shelter and barriers would have to wait. Hermione managed to get her arms around his chest and dragged him away from the rock, his moans and cries of pain ripping through her and making her eyes prickle with tears.

"It's okay," she told him over and over again though she was sure he couldn't hear her anyway. "It's okay, Harry. I'm going to heal you up and you're going to be just fine. I promise. It's going to be okay."

She managed to wave her wand and melt a patch of snow to lower Harry down onto and then pinned him down with one knee while she searched for the source of all the blood. It was difficult. Harry kept jerking around, making her wand-light go awry. He was pale, she thought, too pale. As white as the snow around them.

"Harry, you have to wake up, okay? You have to come to and tell me where you're hurt!" she tried to sound calm, but failed miserably. Harry was the calm one… in situations like this anyway. "Come on, wake up!" she shook his shoulders, but he only cried out again.

It had to be his scar. She thought dimly as she tried with more and more desperation to shake her friend awake. They had just been so close to _him_ and she only ever heard him scream like this during one of those nightmares. But they never lasted this long. Something was different, something was really wrong and she couldn't figure out what it was. She couldn't find away to help him and every moan and scream of pain shot through her like an electric shock. The darkness pressed in on all sides, the cold curled around them like an ocean wave, and her fingers were red and sticky with blood that she could not stop.

"Come on, Harry! You have to wake up! You have to wake up!" Hermione half sobbed. "Damnit! Ron was always so much better at this! Harry! Please, wake up! You're going to be okay! You have to be okay!"

…

Ron sat on the windowsill in the living room of his oldest brother's house, forehead pressed against the icy glass as he stared unseeingly into the blackness surrounding the cottage. Christmas songs interrupted now and then by news or weather played quietly from the wireless in the corner as the clock above the fireplace struck midnight, and Bill and Fleur were murmuring to each other on the couch, but Ron wasn't listening.

The same desolate thoughts were whirling in his brain, try as he might to push them away, to come up with an answer, something to do. He could hear Harry shouting "My parents are _dead_!", see Hermione's face as he shot at her "You choose him," and turned to storm away, could hear her running after him, screaming his name and begging him to come back. Even as he'd said all those things, a part of his brain had been screaming at him to stop, but he hadn't. And the worst part was he knew that there was a part of him that had really meant it all.

And now there was no way to get back, no way to find them, maybe no chance to apologize. No matter how much he thought about it, looked at it from every angle, he knew there was no way to find them, because they'd made themselves impossible to find. He could feel Bill's eyes on him, almost see the disappointment in them even thought Bill never said anything.

God, he'd messed this up. In true Ron fashion, too. He was supposed to be the _loyal _one. That was the most he had going for him; being there no matter what. He'd already made this mistake once before, during fourth year, and hadn't he vowed then not to let it happen ever again? Hadn't he promised himself, after the maze when he and Hermione had sat next to Harry's bed remembering the broken look in his eyes, that he would always have his back, no matter what?

Well, that was shattered on the ground now.

He wondered how his friends were spending their Christmas. Probably freezing their arses off in the tent somewhere, starving and afraid to think about what might be happening to everyone they'd left behind. Well, he knew how that felt.

Ron jumped when he felt hands on his shoulders. Bill was draping a blanked around him.

"Sorry," Bill muttered. "Didn't mean to scare you. You were shivering," he added.

Ron hadn't even noticed he was cold until Bill pointed it out. "Thanks," he mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Bill perched on the arm of a chair and looked at him shrewdly. "Not that I really want to send my baby brother back off to do who-the-hell-knows-what in the middle of a war, but brooding's not going to help you much."

Ron couldn't even bring himself to scowl at his brother. He knew it was true, he just didn't know what the bloody hell he was supposed to do about it. Bill continued to scrutinize him for a minute while Ron stared determinedly at his hands, then he got up to rejoin Fleur on the couch.

Ron had just turned back to the window when it happened. Something he had never expected and was not prepared for: A voice came out of his pocket; an achingly familiar and terrified voice, and the shock of it made him fall off the windowsill and land painfully on the floor.

"…Ron was always so much better at this! Harry! Please, wake up! You're going to be okay! You have to be okay!" Hermione's voice, choked with sobs and fear, begged. And in the background someone was screaming, obviously in pain.

All the blood had drained from Ron's face. Bill and Fleur had half risen from the couch and were staring at him, looking just as shocked. With a shaking hand, Ron reached into his pocket and pulled out the only thing in there: the Deluminator. He stared at it, utterly baffled, even as a hope began to form in his head. Thinks were beginning to slip into place, though he wasn't quite sure what they were yet.

Ron clicked the Deluminator and the lamps in the living room went out. But something else happened that had never happened before. A glowing orb popped into existence a foot away from him. He gaped at it for a moment before dashing around it towards the stairs, that vague idea rapidly growing stronger.

He paused at eh bottom of the stairs to look at back at Bill and Fleur, who were still staring, open-mouthed, at the orb. "Dumbledore," he told them by way of an explanation. "I…" but he didn't finish, just turned and scrambled up the steps to collect his things, half-afraid that the orb would vanish in his absence and he'd lose his only way back – because that was what he was sure it was.

A little over a minute later, Ron was galloping back down the stairs, everything he had thrown in the rucksack on his back. He skidded to a stop just in front of the orb and looked back to his brother and sister-in-law.

"I… I have to go," he said lamely. "Thanks so much for… and I'm sorry –"

Bill cut him off by sweeping him into a brief, bone-crushing hug. Bill wasn't exactly sure what was going on, but this must be what Ron had been waiting for, his way back. It killed him to watch his little brother vanish again, to pray to god this wasn't the last time he ever saw him, and every part of him wanted to just keep Ron there with him where he knew he was safe, but that wasn't really an option.

"Take care of yourself," he said gruffly as he released his little brother.

"Wait, Ron, do you not think you should think about this?" Fleur said worriedly, looking at the orb. "You do not even know what that will do! And someone was screaming!"

"I have to go," Ron repeated, stepping closer to the orb. "Thanks for everything…really."

With that he stepped straight into the orb, feeling it go into his chest, feeling it's heat against his very heart. And then he turned, disapperating on the spot.

…

Harry's screamed had quieted, at least for now. Hermione knelt next to him as he whimpered, fumbling with the locket she'd only just remembered was around his neck. She didn't know if it was the source of any of Harry's pain, but she didn't think it was helping him to have it on. But she couldn't get it off. It was like it had been welded to his chest. The metal would not come away from his skin and each time she pulled, Harry would let out a cry of pain.

"I'm so sorry about this, Harry!" she wailed.

She had just raised her wand to cut it away when pounding footsteps behind her made her whirl in fear. A shadow dethatched itself from the trees and began hurtling towards her up the hill. Her heart in her throat, Hermione jumped to her feet and screamed, "_Stupify!_"

The figure leapt aside with a muttered, "Bloody hell!" and her stunner missed by inches. Without pause, she fired another hex down at the intruder, who rolled to avoid it this time and shouted, "Stop, Hermione! It's me! It's Ron!"

Only the shock of hearing that voice stopped her in her tracks. She stared, wide-eyed, disbelieving as the figure slowly raised himself off the ground, holding up his hands in surrender. She didn't try to hex him again, but when he made to keep coming towards them she barked, "Don't move!" in a much fiercer tone than she thought she could pull off at the moment. The figure froze immediately.

"I'm sorry! I'm really really sorry! You can hex me all you like later, but right now I think we've got other priorities!" the figure called.

He stood about ten feet down the hill and even in the dim wand-light, Hermione could make out the vivid red of Weasley hair. She did not lower her wand. _Now? _Now _he shows up?_ It was a trap, just like the one in Godric's Hollow. Pretty soon Ron would turn into a snake or Death Eaters would jump out of the trees, because how the hell had he found them?

Harry let out another scream, his whole body jerking into the back of her legs and nearly making her fall. The person who looked like Ron but could not possibly be made to come closer, looking concerned, but she brandish her wand at him and he froze again.

"Hermione –"

"Expelliarmus," She said suddenly and the figure jumped back as a jet of red light flew suddenly at him, but he didn't manage to dodge it this time and she made out a wand flying away into the darkness. "How do I know it's you?" She demanded harshly. "How do I know it's you and not a trick or a trap?"

She wanted verification? Ron wracked his brains for something no one else (save Harry, most likely) would know.

"Er… In second year you spent a month in the hospital wing because you accidentally put a cat hair in your pollyjuice potion," he supplied hopefully.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You could have found that out," she said scornfully.

"How?" Ron asked incredulously.

"McGonagall or Madam Pomfrey might have known, just not had any real proof, or the real Ron might have told you, or Ginny or her parents. Harry explained most of that to them after the chamber," she supplied.

"He didn't tell them the bit about your dose going wrong," Ron argued, feeling more than agitated with Hermione's wand on him and Harry lying motionless behind her. What he'd heard coming from the deluminator echoed in his head, _Harry! Please, wake up! You're going to be okay! You have to be okay!... You have to be okay! _You have to be okay!

"I don't know that for sure!" Hermione answered, her voice rising shrilly. She could hear harry whimpering again and bent down to find his hand, keeping her wand trained on Ron.

"Fine! You ask me something you don't think anybody would know then!" Ron exclaimed impatiently.

"What if you know Legilimency? Then you could just read the answer in my head," Hermione shot back. She knew she was being a bit ridiculous, but if this was a trap she couldn't take any risks, especially not with Harry in the state he was in.

"Bloody effing hell! You're making this difficult!" Ron exploded in frustration. "How do you know it's me and not a trap? Right, well, you're the cleverest witch of our whole bloody generation, but I still think the most amazing thing you've ever done is slap Draco Malfoy across the face for being a git about Hagrid third year. You were the one who saved our arses from Devil's snare first year, but we were nearly strangled first because you temporarily forgot about magic. Ginny was the one who named my owl Pigwidgeon. I'm terrified of spiders because Fred turned my teddy bear into one when I was three. The first night at Grimauld Place was the first time I ever held your hand. I'd tell you what we're running around the country trying to do, but even I'm not thick enough to go shouting about something like that, even out in the middle of the nowhere. And last year when MacLaggen broke Harry's skull and it was just you and me in the hospital wing while he was unconscious you started bawling because you were afraid next time we were in that position it wouldn't be because of some stupid Quidditch injury and then you ran out 'cause I guess you didn't want me to see you crying, and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't relieved because I had no idea what to do with crying girls."

He stopped, breathless and panting, and looked up at her. "That convince you yet, or should I keep going? Only I'm pretty sure that's Harry behind you not moving as much as he should be."

Hermione's mind was reeling. It was him. She knew it was him, now, but it was not the time for how's and why's or for hexing him into a pulp for leaving in the first place. Instead she turned back to Harry. His breathing had become ragged and he was whimpering like a little kid, one knee drawn up to his chin and the hand she wasn't holding scrabbling at his chest.

Ron took this as permission to move and scrambled the rest of the way up the hill to drop down on Harry's other side. He lit his wand, too, and gagged at what he saw. Harry was chalk white and smeared with dark crimson blood, whimpering pitifully with his eyes squeezed shut.

"You were letting him lay there looking like _this _to have that pointless argument with me?" He demanded angrily, but Hermione ignored him. She had coaxed Harry's hand away from the locket and had placed the tip of her wand where the locket met the skin.

"I'm sorry, Harry! I'm really sorry!" she said, squeezing his hand and steeling herself to do the only thing she could think of to get that horrible thing off him. "_Diffindo!" _

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed, realizing what spell she was doing halfway through the word and trying to smack the wand away, but all that did was cause Hermione's aim to go awry and the spell cut a gash across Harry's chest.

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked over Harry's scream of pain.

"You were gonna cut his chest open!" Ron protested.

"I'm trying to get the locket off! It's stuck to him!"

"Oh…"

"Here," Hermione snapped, flinging the beaded bag at him. "Start putting up protections and get the Dittany for me and set up the tent."

Ron was eager to obey. He jumped to his feet and started putting up the protections as if he'd done it just that morning and not many weeks before.

Hermione held her wand close to the gash to gauge how bad it was. It didn't look deep, thank god, only a little worse than a scrape. She pointed her wand again at the locket and this time the spell worked as she'd intended it to, although that wasn't much better. The locket came away, but Harry screamed and thrashed in pain as she cut away his skin, too.

Ron paused halfway through casting the protective spells and looked worriedly over at them but one look from Hermione set him back to work.

Hermione shoved the locket into her bag, which Ron had dropped on Harry's other side and summoned the dittany. She had just dropped some onto the gash Ron had accidentally made when Harry started screaming and thrashing around worse than ever. Hermione tried to hold him down, but his knee caught her in the shoulder and knocked her backwards.

Ron was at her side in a second, pinning Harry down and trying to wake him up, but he had as much luck as Hermione had had.

"It's his scar," she told him grabbing one of Harry's arms and holding it down. "But it's not normal. I don't know what's happening, but he won't wake up!"

"Harry, mate! Come on! We need you to wake up, alright? Come on, snap out of it!" He shook Harry's shoulders roughly, but Harry's eyes stayed closed.

Hermione, however, had noticed something. There was a wound on the arm she was holding. She quickly siphoned away the blood to look at it and swore. "The snake bit him! Damn it, the snake bit him! Her fangs are poisonous!" She swore again and set to cleaning the wound as best she could in the darkness. If Harry'd been poisoned, she had no idea what they were going to do about it. They could hardly bring him to St. Mungo's and how was she supposed to make an antidote the way things were?

"Snake?" Ron asked, sounding terrified. "What the hell happened?"

But all Hermione said was, "Finish the enchantments."

"They're done," Ron told her.

"Then put up the tent! We need to get him inside!"

Ron grabbed the beaded bag and began pulling out tent polls.

In five minutes the tent was put up and he and Hermione were heaving Harry onto a bottom bunk.

"Get a cloth and some hot water," Hermione instructed and Ron did as he was told.

Hermione flicked her wand and the lanterns flickered to life. Harry looked worse in full light. His clothes were stained with blood and he had a few nasty-looking cuts on his face from the broken glass.

"Here," Ron said, shoving a cloth and a bowl of hot water into her hands.

"Put some Dittany on the bite," she told him. "If it doesn't heal we'll know he was poisoned."

Ron looked sickened as he pulled the little bottle out, but he did what Hermione told him to do, trying not to remember what his dad had looked like in St. Munro's two years ago. Hermione whipped the blood off Harry's face as gently as she could, healing the cuts as she went. All the while Harry shook violently and moaned and whimpered, sometimes sounding just like a toddler, but he didn't wake up.

"It worked!" Ron exclaimed suddenly, making Hermione smack her head on the upper bunk. "There's still a mark, but it's closing." Ron told her, pointing at where the snake had bitten Harry.

Hermione sagged with relief. No poison. She didn't know why it poisoned Ron's dad and not Harry, but she didn't care. At least they didn't have to worry about that.

"I think we've done all we can for now," she whispered, summoning blankets from the other beds and piling them on Harry as he continued to shake so badly the bunk rattled. "We can't wake him up. If none of that did, then nothing will. We'll just have to wait."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, aside from Harry's whimpers.

"It sounds like he's crying, but he's not," Ron observed, looking unnerved.

Hermione did not say anything.

Ron shifted awkwardly. He could practically feel the fury she was biting back and was as helpless as ever to sooth it.

"I'm sorry –" he began, hating how lame it sounded, but with no idea what else he could say.

She whipped around so fast the bowl tipped over and water spilled over the floor.

"You're _sorry_?" Hermione hissed, voice shaking dangerously. "You – run – out – on – us – for – _weeks _– and – you – think – SORRY – will – do?"

"No! I just –" Ron started, looking scared, but at that moment, Harry started screaming again, jerking around in the bed so badly he nearly fell out.

Ron and Hermione both jumped forward, forgetting their argument as Harry gasped and screamed, his thin frame shaking more violently than before.

"What's he saying?" Ron shouted, pinning Harry's legs down while Hermione heaved his torso back onto the bunk.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione called back.

"He's saying something! Can you tell what it is?"

They both listened to Harry's cries. It was definitely words, but they couldn't make out what they were.

Harry convulsed, nearly doubling up and Ron saw Hermione lunge for the now-empty water bowl and shove it under his chin, pulling him up into a semi-sitting position and holding him up as he got sick. When he'd finished, Ron took care of the bowl while Hermione cleaned him up and lay him back down on the bed.

"This is bad," Ron said shakily, returning with the clean bowl. "I've never seen it this bad, What d'you think happened?"

"I don't know," Hermione said in a clipped voice, chewing her lip worriedly as she wiped Harry's sweaty brow with a cool cloth.

"What the hell happened to you guys?" Ron pressed. He'd been dying to know why his best-friend (at least he hoped he still was) was hurt so badly.

"Ron, if you're going to be here, at least be useful and keep watch," Hermione snapped. She did not want to relive Godric's Hollow for Ron right now. She was scared for Harry and of the memories that kept surging up and too mad at Ron to look at him right now. Plus, she wasn't even sure what had really happened. All she knew was by the time she got up to that bedroom, a snake was trying to kill her best friend.

Ron looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't. He glared as he stood up and stalked to the tent entrance. As he sat there, shivering and staring out at the snow-covered landscape, listening to Harry whimpering again, he found it hard to believe only hours ago he'd been beside a fire in his brother's house, full of turkey and listening to Christmas carols. All of that seemed like a dream now, but he was not sorry to have woken up to reality.

About two hours later Harry started screaming and thrashing wildly again. He'd been moaning and shouting and whimpering, sometimes saying odd words, all night, but when Ron heard the heavy thud that meant Harry had thrown himself off the mattress, he decided he better go in again.

He helped Hermione heave him back onto the bed and recover him with blankets as he was shivering worse than before.

"He's got a fever," Hermione whispered, grabbing for the bowl as Harry began to choke up bile.

"Probably from all the blankets and the shaking," Ron said, hoping to Merlin it wasn't because of the snake bite or that damn locket.

Hermione nodded. Ron noticed there were cuts on her face that she didn't seem to have noticed and she looked exhausted.

"I can sit with him if you want to sleep," he offered.

The look she gave him was answer enough.

"Right, I'll just… go back out then."

…

"_No…" _

"_Harry, it's alright, you're alright!" _

"_No… I dropped it…. I dropped it…." _

"_Harry, it's okay, wake up, wake up!"_

_He was Harry… Harry, not Voldemort… and the thing that was moving was not a snake…. He opened his eyes _

"_Harry," Hermione whispered. "Do you feel all – all right?" _

"_Yes," he lied. _

"Bull," said a voice from behind Hermione.

Harry shot up so fast, spots swam in front of his eyes and he felt nausea role over him. It took all his effort not be sick, but he squinted passed Hermione at the tall silhouette looming in the tent entrance.

"You've been awful for six hours and a snake nearly took your arm off. Don't even try to tell me you fell all right," the silhouette said, kneeling down next to Harry's bed.

Harry gaped at him.

"Ron?" he croaked.

Ron looked down as if embarrassed. "Yeah, it's me."

"What are you doing here?" Harry didn't care that it sounded harsh. He was still reeling after everything that had happened that night, everything he'd seen. He could not deal with this now.

Hermione looked as though she felt similarly. She nudged Ron out of the way and gently pushed Harry back onto the pillow. He let her. He felt terrible, really, as though he had a bad bought of flu. He was drenched in sweat; he could feel it on the sheets and blankets.

"We got away," Harry said blearily.

"Yeah, and I'd still like to know what exactly you got away form," Ron said, looking between the two of them.

Neither one answered. Harry could tell Hermione was angry. The coldness she was directing towards Ron nearly made him shiver. He turned his head on the pillow so he could stare at Ron, trying to reassure himself he wasn't just imagining things.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again.

"I've.. I've come back, if you'll have me," Ron mumbled. He looked at Harry hopefully at this question rather than Hermione.

Harry closed his eyes. All of the night was crashing down on him. His parents' graves, the snake coming out of Bathilda, watching his parents die. None of it was helped by the fact that he could still smell the reek of Bathilda's house on him.

"Harry? Are you okay? Are you hurt somewhere else?" Hermione said anxiously because Harry had started to shake badly again. He shook his head.

He could not deal with Ron at the moment. He had left, the things he'd said, what if he still thought them? Could Harry forgive him for taking off in the first place? But there was no denying the underlying relief at seeing him there…

"You're here," Harry said, opening his eyes at last to look at Ron. "I don't understand… but we can't just kick you out, so I guess you're back."

He looked away from the relieved look on Ron's face to Hermione's scowl. He was too tired to sort this all out right now. His mother's voice was beginning to echo in his head, her dying screams, and he could see his father dropping again and again. To distract himself, he asked, "What happened?"

**A/N: Okay so now it basically goes back to the book, except a few things are switched around. Like after Harry and Hermione finish talking about Godric's Hollow and wands and stuff Ron doesn't let Harry go take watch. So Harry and Hermione still read that part of Skeeter's book and it's just the two of them, only they do it inside the tent. And then Hermione freaking out and punching Ron happens later that day I'd think, just like in the book only Harry wouldn't stop it so quickly. And then when the doe comes, Ron just follows and does what he did in the book and Harry really forgives him and Hermione… well, just like the book. I didn't really want to right all that out since it's basically the book, just slightly rearranged. **

**Anyway, thanks for the reading and please review! I would love to know how you think I did! It would help with the next chapter! **


	4. The End

**A/N: Soooo…. It's been a long time, hasn't it? Heh. Kind of lost motivation for this since not very many people seemed interested and I started another story that takes up all of my time. But I still like this story and I had this idea and I had to write it out. I'm not sure how good it is, really. But I'd really REALY appreciate YOUR thoughts! Anyways…**

**Summary: What if the memories in the pensive had taken longer? What if Harry missed his deadline by just a few minutes?**

_Without a word to Harry, Ron and Hermione walked away. Harry saw Hermione approach Ginny, whose face was swollen and blotchy, and hug her. Ron joined Bill, Fleur, and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron's shoulders. As Ginny and Hermione moved closer to the rest of the family, Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred: Remus and Tonks, pale still and peacefult-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling. _

_The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink as Harry reeled backward from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not bear to look into their eyes when, had he given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died…_

_He turned away and ran up the marble staircase. _

XXX

"Ron!"

Ron did not know how long it had been. It might have been forever that he had spent standing there in the middle of the great hall, eyes fixed on his brother's unmoving body, his mother's shaking frame thrown across Fred's chest, her wails mingling with those of the other mourners, all howling together in a swell of horror and misery.

"Ron!"

Hermione's voice cut into his numb brain sharper than nearly anything else could. She was shaking his arm, an urgency in her voice that brought him back to the battle, back to the reality of this nightmare.

"What?"

Hermione looked up at him and he saw in her eyes a fear that made dread settling over him like he had thought nothing else could after seeing his brother's lifeless body. She barely whispered the next words, the noise of the hall drowning them out, but Ron knew what she said, could almost didn't need to see her lips to understand.

"Harry's gone."

"He was right behind us," Ron croaked, craning his neck, twisting on the spot, convinced that he would see Harry's dark head among his family, beside Lupin and Tonks, hunched near the doorway being crushed by guilt at the scene. But Harry was not there.

"He didn't follow us," Hermione whispered.

"But… he was right behind us. I swear we all came in…"

Hermione shook her head, tears sparkling in her eyes. "I don't think he followed us at all. I assumed he had, but I didn't check… not until just now…"

"He's probably… probably just gone to help or something. Probably couldn't stand to see all these people. We should go find him." And without waiting for a response, Ron brushed past Hermione, grabbing her wrist and tugging her along with him.

There was no need to voice the ice-cold terror spreading through them both. They knew, somewhere deep inside themselves, what Harry's absence must mean, but neither one spoke it aloud. They still proceeded to search, to run through the castle, to sweep the grounds. But Harry was nowhere.

Half an hour later, they staggered into the entrance hall. Hermione dropped Ron's hand and slid down to the floor, her face wet from tears that slipped silently down her cheeks.

"How could we have let this happen?" she asked in horror. "You saw the way he looked after what Voldemort said. How could we have taken our eyes off him for even a second?"

"We couldn't have stopped him," Ron said dully. "You know him. If he… there was no way we could have stopped him."

"Yes there was!" Hermione choked, looking up at him with fierce and indignant eyes. "_We _could have stopped him, could have held him back. You know where he's gone! You know why! We could have stopped him!"

Ron sank down beside her, a numbness seeping once more into him.

"What are you doing?"

The voice made both Ron and Hermione jump. Ginny stood in the doorway to the Great Hall, her large brown eyes fixed on them, a fear she refused to acknowledge fluttering in them.

"Where's Harry?" she demanded, taking a step closer. "Why isn't he with you?"

Ron and Hermione only stared at her, neither one able to find the words to explain the source of their own dread.

XXX

_Harry rose up out of the pensive, and a moment later he lay on the carpeted floor in exactly the same room: Snape might just have closed the door. _

Harry had not even taken a breath when the high, cold voice echoed once more through every orifice of the castle grounds, chilling his blood, screeching in his ears as the noise of a nightmare; the worst nightmare.

"The hour allotted for sacrifice has drawn to a close and your savior has not shown himself. He would rather hide among you like a rat, watch you cast your lives aside so that he may not have to. He would, it appears, sit by and watch the whole of this castle be destroyed than end this battle. Or perhaps he has already fled, leaving behind those who have fought for him… But I cannot take that chance.

"I do not wish for this to be a bloody night. All I want is the blood of Harry Potter. But he will not come forth as the savior you christened him, and so … I must push forward and find him myself… drag him out of hiding. Hand him over and no more will have to die. But any who attempts to help him, I will be forced to destroy."

And once again the echoing silence slammed down in the wake of those words. Harry got slowly to his feet, one thought bouncing madly around his mind like a ping pong ball. He was too late. Finally, the truth of how it must all end, and he was too late. In a swarm of color, Harry saw the faces of the people he loved, both living and dead, wondered how many more might be part of the latter group when the fighting recommenced.

_NO! _There was no time to think about it, no time to worry or dwell. If there was one last thing he could do, he would not let that happen, would not let any more loss rip the world apart. He pulled the invisibility cloak out and flung it over himself, then lurched for the door.

Harry tore down the silent, familiar passages, bouncing off walls, hardly aware of anything. He was hurtling towards Voldemort, towards the end, at last. It would end. What should have been done in Godric's Hollow all those years ago would finally be finished. Neither could live. Neither would survive.

There was not room in his head for fear or anger. Had he had more time, had it not been a race to end things before anything more could be lost, Harry was not sure if he could have found it in him to rise and walk calmly to meet Voldemort, to his death. There was no other way, he saw that now, saw how it had always been, how foolish he had been to assume Dumbledore wanted him to live. He had always been part of a bigger plan, a pawn, a tool to be used and honed, but never trusted.

It had all been rather brilliant, to give such a dangerous task to a boy already marked for slaughter, whose death would not be a calamity, but another blow against Voldemort. Yet it never crossed his mind to run in the other direction, to attempt to evade this. It was over. He knew it. And all that was left was the thing itself: dying.

Unbidden, a fear leapt in his stomach and chest, clawing frantically at his insides. Would it hurt to die? What would it be like to cease… everything? He wished there were time to find Ron and Hermione, Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys, to at least explain to them why it had to be this way, to thank them for everything they had given to him. But there was no time. There would be no good-byes, no explanations. And maybe it was better that way, because he thought that if he saw them again, he might not be able to ever stop looking.

As Harry neared the top of the marble staircase, he caught the first signs of life. People were filing out of the Great Hall, lining up in the entrance hall, spilling out onto the grounds, faces set, wands drawn, ready to fight again. Their faces blurred together to him. He did not want to catch sight of anyone he loved, felt that he had already let them go.

Without seeing more than dim outlines of people, Harry plunged down the stairs and into the crowd, pushing between people as best he could in the cloak, not wanting to draw suspicion. Somehow he reached the front doors and burst out into the cool night. And he could see them, moving as though part of the shadows at the edge of the forest. The army was approaching and at its head, glowing palely, was the skeletal, snake-like face, of Voldemort, murder glittering in his eyes.

The curses started flying before Harry could make it to the open. He was unaware of how it had started, but before he could push his way into the open, to give himself up, the crowd around him had surged forward, curses flying, to meet the enemy.

Harry pushed through the battle, determined that it should end, here and now. He could hear Voldemort screaming not far away, could almost feel the intensity of the duel he was engaged in. a clearing in the crowd revealed Kingsly, McGonagall, and Flitwick all engaged in battle with him at once. Harry dove in that direction, a feverish desire to simply reach the end the only thing keeping him going.

Ten feet away, he pulled off the cloak, roaring above the tumult so that he would be heard, "RIDDLE!"

A silence seemed to ripple out around them as Voldeomrt's red eyes locked on Harry's green ones. Kingsley, McGonagall, and Flitwick were thrown aside as Voldemort turned his wand on Harry.

"You wanted me," Harry said quietly, but in the abrupt stillness that seemed to have frozen the battle, his voice carried.

"You are too late, Harry Potter," Voldemort said softly. "I offered you the chance to stop all of this and you did not take it. You were contented to sit back and watch the slaughter."

"No," Harry said hoarsely. He was aware of Professor McGonagall moving to his left, getting slowly to her feet, of other movement in the crowd. Suddenly the three people Harry least wanted to see at this moment emerged barely ten feet from him; Ron, Hermione, and Ginny pushed to the front of the crowd, he could see their scared eyes flicking between him and Voldemort.

"Stay where you are!" he called to them, not taking his eyes off Voldemort, who laughed softly.

"Now you try to protect them? After you have watched so many die for you?"

"Harry!" Ginny's voice, choked and rough with tears broke through the silence and nearly made him sprint those few feet to her side. But he didn't.

"You want my blood, well here I am," Harry said. Then he let his arm drop to his side, his wand slipped through his lax fingers.

The crowd stirred around him. Whispers and rustles filled the silence.

"No!"

"Harry!"

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna, the rest of the Weasleys, even people Harry did not recognize whispered or shouted it. He could see the pained faces of the people he cared about, could see them preparing to surge forward, to begin fighting again, to stop him. This had to happen, _now_. He wished they did not have to watch it, but he had been too late for that.

"Let's finish this," Harry said more loudly." You don't need to hurt them anymore. What you wanted here is long gone now, but I'm the only one who knows. Kill me, and no one else will find out. You don't need to kill them. End this now. Kill me and leave them alone. You'll have what you want."

He took a step nearer, surrender permeating him so palpably everyone must see it.

"Harry, NO!'

"DON'T!"

"HARRY!"

Ron and Hermione and Ginny and all the rest shouted it, screamed it, but Voldemort waved his wand and silenced them once more. It seemed that they could not even move as Harry took another step closer to Voldemort. He was glad of it, glad that no one could run forward to help him.

He stopped, looking intently at Voldemort, inviting the curse. He wanted it to happen now, before fear could return, before he could show weakness.

Voldemort raised his wand, tilting his head to the side like a curious child.

Harry saw the lips move, the flash of green light, heard the rush of death speeding towards him. And then everything was gone.

XXX

A blast of energy knocked Ron backward, Hermione on top of him. The green light seemed to sear his eyes and a heavy thud made his chest constrict and his stomach heave. He fought his way upright, eyes slamming to the place his best friend had stood.

The screams had broken out around him, people shrieking, crying, shouting. But Ron barely heard them, could not tell if his voice was the one shrieking in his ears, or if it was Hermione's or Ginny's on either side of him. All he knew was that a dark mass was lying face down on the ground where Harry had been standing. He, Hermione, and Ginny lurched towards it as one, but something caught Ron in the stomach before he'd gotten two steps, like an invisible bar knocking the three of them backward.

"NO!" Voldemort shrieked, and only then did Ron realize that he was struggling to his feet. He must have also been knocked backward by the force of that impact. He wondered vaguely, in some distant chamber of his brain, why that had happened, but it wasn't very important at the moment. All he could think was that his best mate – no, his _brother _– was lying motionless a few feet away and he could not comprehend that.

Bellatrix was attempting to help Voldemort up, but he pushed her away.

"The boy. Check that he is dead. You!" he pointed to someone Ron couldn't see.

A figure detached itself from the crowd and ventured into the clear space where Harry lay. It was only the sheet of slivery hair that made Ron realize it was Narcissa Malfoy who bent over Harry. He watched as she grabbed his wrist, opened an eye, pressed a hand over his chest to check for a heartbeat or breathing. All throughout this, Harry lay limply, and finally the woman straightened up.

"He is dead," she announced and the words slammed into Ron with more force than he could handle. He sagged into Hermione, heard her rasping sob, felt the world crumbling into one horrendous hellish nightmare that simply could not be real. He could not have lost two brothers in one night. Harry could not have died. Harry never died.

The Death Eaters shrieked and laughed with a jubilation that made Ron feel as if a knife had been stuck in his chest. Sparks shot into the air form the tips of several wands, their green light reflecting sickeningly off Harry's deathly pale skin.

Voldemort's laugh rang above all the rest, high, cold, cruel. He raised his wand and shrieked "Crucio!"

Harry's body flew into the air and slammed back to the ground, limp and lifeless as a doll and they cheered all the more.

"Crucio! Crucio!" Voldemort shrieked and twice more Harry's body was tossed around, empty and unresisting. And the Death Eathers laughed, howled, roared with celebration. And the rest seemed unable to move, unable to do anything but watch.

Voldemort raised his wand again, preparing to degrade the body even more, to flaunt his triumph. But Ron could take no more of it.

"STOP IT!" he shouted, the command ripping from his throat without conscious thought. "STOP IT!"

Voldemort lowered his wand, malicious eyes snapping to Ron instead.

"Stop it?" He asked softly. "You wish me to stop? So be it."

He flicked his wand and Ron was sent flying backward, blood oozing form a new gash on his cheek.

Ron did not move from where he lay crumpled on the ground. He felt Hermione next to him, still shaking with dry sobs, but he could not push himself upright, could not look at the lifeless form of his friend. Voldemort began to speak again, about Harry being a coward, taking the easy way out instead of fighting. About how he did not wish to spill pure blood. About how Hogwarts would be rebuilt stronger than before.

But it was the last comment about Harry that galvanized Ron into pushing himself up. It was Voldeomrt's insinuations that Harry had been nothing but a child who had relied on the sacrifice of others that goaded him into speech and he broke the silence that had held them all.

"He beat you!"

And the others began to stir too, to shout and scream. And then another figure detached itself from the crowd, ran forward.

Neville had broken free of the crowd. Voldemort taunted him, but Neville stood his ground.

"I'll join you when Hell freezes over!"

And that was when Voldemort got angry. He raised his wand and something flew out of a smashed window of the castle, landed on Neville's head. The sorting hat. And then it burst into flames on Neville and chaos broke loose. Ron and Hermione jumped to their feet, screams of rage echoing from all sides as people rushed forward.

But before anyone could reach Neville to help, he moved and the hat fell off of him and he straightened up with a glint of reflected light, a sword held out before him. The sword of Gryffindor.

Voldemort was feet away from him, his great snake draped across his shoulders now that he thought there was no threat, that the only one to have known her value was gone.

And Ron knew that it had to end tonight. That Harry had meant it to end tonight. And so he shouted, "The snake! KILL THE SNAKE!"

And without seeming to think about it, Neville swung the sword high and the snake's head went spinning away.

**A/N: Well, what did you think? Please tell me! It does keep me going! Despite the chapter title, this is not the last chapter I'm going to do if anyone is at all interested in more. I will take requests too! **


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